SKIMMING STONES by Michael Docker

We were skimming stones, friends and me,
Skimming round, blue, strewn stones
Over the wide water, through the sounds
Of the water running, rushing, to the sea.

Why this urge no one resists? By a bend,
Where a hill stream quickens over stones
Another stream thickens like a trend.
Families with children damp their hands,
Walkers pause to stretch themselves, end..

Why this urge resisted by no one?
Why this centre?
We return to the truculent stream,
The stones we throw enter,
Dreams ripple and grow,
Ripple and go.

Somewhere bone
Breaks, cities fall,
Children scream,
Still, here we throw stones
Into the centre of the stream.

Why is this done by everyone?
Why this mission?
Dry walkers, the delicate child, .
The father - all of them add to the water

And the water flows on over stone

Walls, cumulate dams.
The call of the stones
Leaves the delicate ones
And the walkers beguiled.

No one will cease from it, no one.
All's a throwing
All's a wish to remain, to build, to be doing.
The water will rise, that's as maybe;
Maybe all but the finest stones,
Strongest bone, greatest city
Or child fall again,
But still we are skimming stones
Into the water, the centre, the stream.